


A Sight For Sore Eyes

by Britpacker



Series: Life On Earth [6]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Captain Tucker's been working away. What was it he was so keen to rush home for?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
> **Author's notes:** Trip's being a worrier. Malcolm can do that (among other things) to a man.

"Commander Reed, Sir?"

Shit, what kind of trained chimpanzees does he have to work with? You ask a simple question and get looked at like you've just crawled out of a hole in the ground. "Yeah. Smallish, dark hair, temper of a scalded alley cat. He works here, remember?"

Lieutenant R Marques, according to his ID. He's trying to be as patronising back at me, but I'm a four-pip officer and right now I'm wondering who he must've slept with to get his second. Mal would have my hide for abusing a member of his team but hey - it's only in my head, so he don't need to know.

"Yes, Sir." Now he's raking me with his eyes like he's trying to figure what my husband sees in this obnoxious hick of an engineer, so I push myself off the doorframe and try looking down my nose, arms folded. He'll know the pose. God knows everyone on Enterprise would recognise it, because Commander Reed uses it a lot when he's pissed with a subordinate.

Or a spouse, but there's no need for Marques to know that.

"He left early."

Malcolm? "Are we talking about the same Commander Reed here, Lieutenant?"

Okay, now the smartass is trying not to grin, and I'm trying to act like I'm not completely freaked. "Yessir. Said he had things to do. Connors said he'd been distracted all day."

Well, maybe that's 'cause his husband was due home from five days on the Lunar Colony. Before my head (or anything else) can swell up at the thought, Marques hits me with a shot Malcolm himself couldn't fire better.

"She said he looked pale, Sir, so we figured maybe he had a headache."

Pale? For anyone to actually notice _him_ looking pale, Mal's got to be ashen. Suddenly I'm not pissed with Marques playing smart; I'm not even disappointed my getting out of debrief early hasn't gotten the joyfully public reunion I've been anticipating all day.

I'm plain scared. "Didn't anybody suggest he should go see a doctor?"

Yeah, right. The olive face on a level with mine's just gone white too at the thought of saying that to Cmdr Reed. Officers don't get sick. Reeds don't give in to piddling little headaches. I've had that lecture, thanks.

And I don't need one from a junior officer about the futility of suggesting Commander Reed do anything he doesn't want to. Malcolm's not here. No reason for me to be, either.

Damn, I was so desperate to see that gorgeous, pissy little bastard again I ran right across the compound. If I wasn't so worried, I'd be mad at him for spoiling my big surprise.

Thank God they've installed transporter pads in every town around San Fran; most folks are scared of them, but having our molecules scrambled saved Malcolm's and my asses enough times in deep space that we use them to and from work every day now we're settled planetside. Five minutes is all it takes before I'm unlocking our big old iron gates and tearing up the drive like my butt's on fire. Everything looks normal. There's no sign he's even home.

I'm over-reacting, have to be. But my mouth's parched and my heart's using itself as a battering ram, determined to bust out of my chest. I've got to lick my cracked lips and swallow before I can try calling out, and oh God, if he's crumpled up sick in a ball on the hall floor...

My mouth's already open when I hear it. The tiniest little whimper floating down from the first floor, a sound so faint even Hoshi's ear wouldn't usually detect it. It wallops me with the force of a Reed right hook.

"Malcolm?"

Like he's going to hear that pathetic little croak, Tucker. I want to run, gather him in my arms, protect him from whatever's hurting him but I can't seem to move, and - oh.

_That_ didn't sound like pain.

My mouth's just gotten drier, but my legs are obeying the brain's orders again, getting me up the wide, shallow stairs two at a time. The main guest room door's wide open and oh my, what a sight to welcome a man home.

My Malcolm is spread-eagled on the big white bed, naked and aroused, clutching his engorged dick like a kid with a lollipop. Head back, one leg bent, free hand sliding lazy from the raised knee down the velvet skin of his inner thigh. He's barely moving the other hand yet, content just to feel the pulse of hot, sleek flesh against his callused palm. Just the smallest rocking motion of the hip, a little friction, and there's the left hand wandering north, across the tight, flat belly and higher, careful to avoid the rosy pebbles of his hardening nipples. He won't touch them yet; too sensitive, linked directly to his balls. One of these days, I'm gonna make him come just by playing with them.

Right now, I'm thinking I might come just from looking at him.

He's starting to fidget; the bent leg flops down and he's burrowing his butt deep into the mattress, purring with delight at the throb of blood pulsing beneath his thumb. 

I know I'm inching forward, desperate for a better look; somehow my inner Neanderthal's being quashed, because I should be wanting to throw myself at him, to devour that gorgeous body offering itself up all unknowing to my hungry eyes. He's lost in sensation, oblivious to my existence, and just this once, I don't mind. I've never seen him like this before.

He's... exquisite.

The right hand is moving steadily as I tiptoe to the doorway, and I'll have to sag against the wall, 'cause the sight of him's melting every bone in my legs. He's squirming, his broad, well-defined chest rising and falling under those aimless caresses. My mouth's hanging open, but that's okay. I can breathe better like this, and I need all the oxygen I can get. It's not until something makes me shiver I realise I'm pressing my own rising cock through my uniform. 

Still, I can't focus on what my body wants. I'm too caught up in him. Lucky I can lay back against the wall and take in the whole perfect picture.

The free hand moving with purpose now, checking out every sensitive spot; round the back of his neck, up over his flushed face and back, down the middle of his chest, fingers fluttering over his belly before diving down to tease his tight sacs. That gets me a little mew and a buck of the hips. And _that_ drags my wandering attention back to the main action.

He's pumping nice and easy, palm sliding over the swollen head every other stroke to catch the glistening droplets leaking from the slit. Damn, I can almost taste him, salty and slightly bitter on my tongue. His long lashes are down, protecting those gorgeous eyes (they'll be glassy now, darkening to platinum the closer he comes to release) from cold reality. What's he seeing behind them?

It had better be me!

"Mmm, Triiip!"

There's my answer, my name leaking out between his smile-parted lips as his shoulders come off the bed and those long, strong fingers clamp 'round a nipple. Yep, the sharp tweak sends a shudder right through him. Funny it goes right into me, even halfway across the room.

He can't stop moaning - small gasps and whimpers mixing with delirious little wails. He's through playing: he wants to come _now_. The urgency's contagious and I've got to stroke myself, fighting past my jumpsuit's zipper before the heat inside ignites the material. I get a firm grip right off; I don't have time to tease myself like he did. I'm so hard - so needy - I'm kind of expecting to go off before he finishes.

I didn't hear it, but I must've made a noise. His eyes flick open, all wide and smoky, smouldering with sensual bliss. "Trip," he whispers, that beautiful slack, silly smile widening. "My Trip."

I think he says it again for the taste of it, but there's no time to ponder. He's shuffling up so his shoulders are supported on the pillow, giving himself a better view. I don't mind. He's still rubbing, pulling, squirming, and now his gaze is locked with mine, and it feels like we're working in unison. Like his body's commanding mine, each upward thrust calling a response from me. I'm slick with sweat and pre-come, my hand sliding easy over the rampant flesh, and God, this is so much better than jacking off alone. 

Malcolm's head threshes on the pillow. He can't keep his eyes open when the orgasm takes him, lifting him bodily off the bed and washing the concentration lines from his brow as he wails my name, hot, thick spurts sluicing between his clenched fingers. His face goes soft and loose, the cry tailing off into a happy little whimpering noise that's just too much to take. My tight balls erupt, and I'm coming, deep, throbbing pulses of pure pleasure singing through me 'til the only thing stopping me shattering into a billion brilliant pieces is the wanton image of Malcolm that's seared into my soul.

I must black out for an instant, because next thing I know he's sat up against his pillows, hooded grey eyes still sleepy with lingering satiation as they wander over my sweaty face. "You're real," he murmurs, and as his gaze drops down I start to realise I'm still mostly dressed with come-stains spattering my uniform. Never realised one of the great life-skills I'd learn aboard Enterprise would be getting semen out of heavy-duty fabric, but hey - deep space is full of surprises.

"Yeah." My mouth's stretched into a grin I'm guessing's a match for his - wide and slack, like the smallest muscles in his face have quit working. The ones in his throat co-operate to form a lazy chuckle.

"Thought so." He holds out his arms and to hell with clothes, I just stumble forward and fall into them, mixing his come with mine from hip to chest. "If you'd been part of my fantasy, you'd have been kneeling between my legs sucking, not gaping like a stunned fish."

"That's what got you so heated up, huh?" I'm surprised: that's a pretty conventional fantasy, and Malcolm's one imaginative man. He sighs. If anything, the smile gets wider.

"Christ, yes!" He's getting his co-ordination back, nimble fingers working open the buttons of my black shirt. "I wasn't expecting you home 'til dinnertime..."

"Jon did the debrief." Better not mention my snark-match with Marques. Malcolm's all nuzzly and affectionate; I don't want to see his claws unsheathed so soon. "Guess he knew my mind wasn't on it."

"Mmm, know the feeling." The haze is clearing now. I'm feeling good, muscles loose as warmed honey, but the sleepiness has gone, and the way we're wriggling, working together to get me naked, it won't be long before we're getting too busy to talk. "I've been thinking of you all day."

His eyes sparkle with the blue tones that glint through the silvery base when he's real amused. "Actually, I slept through the alarm and woke up rock hard and moaning, thinking I had your mouth on my cock, only to find I was alone and likely to be late for a meeting with Markham if I lingered over the matter _at hand_."

"Too bad." He can't stand his boss. No wonder he was distracted all day if he got bawled out for lateness.

"Hmmm. He droned for half an hour and I can't remember a word he said."

I know the feeling, 'cause I'm finding it tough to focus myself right now. Funny, I always do when his fingers are squirreling around with my balls. I'm out of the top half of my uniform now. If Malcolm wasn't distracting us both - oh!

I'm still tender down there, and he's merciless, fondling me 'til I can't keep still. "I couldn't get you out of my head, Charles Tucker," he croons, tickling my lips. I can't resist sucking in his sensitive fingers, playing them with my tongue. It's not until he pulls them out, all slick and glistening, I realise I've gone and done exactly what he wanted.

Not that I'm complaining. Nicely soaked, those supple digits work my tight anus 'til they can slither in and scissor, feathering me inside while his soft, throaty voice seeps in through my skin. "Had to hide my hard-on under the desk at lunchtime, and left a project half-done when the ache became unbearable. I should've ignored bloody Markham and taken care of myself before breakfast."

"Kinda glad y' didn't darlin'," He grins at the thickened accent: he knows by now I'm real turned on when the words all get slurry and broad this way. "I'd've missed one helluva show."

"Pervert." He's good at that little body-roll, the one that gets me trapped underneath him. The breath freezes in my throat, because it always ends up this way, his dick butting against mine and the raw sensation just setting me ablaze.

I'm not the only one. The fire's smouldering away in his eyes as he swoops down, seizing my mouth for a mind-spinning kiss. "Love you," he growls. 

"Love y' more." 

He hums into my mouth, too hungry to waste time on smart-ass remarks. Being away from him's been torture, but I'm beginning to think I'll have to do it again sometime.

He's drowsy when I tell him so, the two of us laying on a crumpled, come-soaked Starfleet coverall. "If I had the energy I'd belt you for that," he grouses, burrowing into my tight hold like he'll never get close enough. "Missed you horribly."

"Uh-huh." It's the most coherent response my tired brain can compose, but he understands. Reunion sex is something else, but spend five nights without the perfect rightness of his body up against mine? 

No, thanks. Not even for the hottest show in the universe.

I kiss the top of his head and tell him so, but my only answer's a soft snore. Never mind. I'm happy to repeat it when he wakes up. It might even get me the hard and fast fuck I've been dreaming of since the alarm interrupted my wet dream this morning, too.

Now there's a pleasant thought to fall asleep on!


End file.
